Jewel of Persia

Kasia stiffened and tilted her face up. “My husband . . . are men responsible for a storm?”


She at least kept her words so quiet no one else would hear them. He shook his head. “That area is known for its violent winds, my sweet. They should have taken that into

account. The god’s servants may have sent the weather, but it was human error that allowed it to wreak such havoc.”

She nodded, but her eyes filled with tears. Ah, the emotions that went along with pregnancy—they were as tempestuous as the Hellespontine winds.

He tipped her chin up. “My authority is grounded in respect, admiration, and fear—failure must be met with punishment, or no one has incentive for success. It is either

punish the thousands who worked on it or the few engineers at the head. Which is the kinder?”

“I know.” She dashed at her eyes. “I am sorry—I cannot think why it upsets me so.”

“I can.” He kissed her forehead and set her away. “Worrying over it cannot be good for you and the babe, my love. Go back to your rooms and rest. I will not rage anymore,

I promise.” And now that he mentioned it . . . “Why did you come in here, anyway?”

Kasia gave him a sheepish smile. “Pythius fetched me.”

He chuckled and cupped her cheek. “A wise man, our Lydian friend. His loyalty proves to me that the god did indeed ordain this campaign. Which begs the question of why

Ahura Mazda allowed this to happen without warning us.”

Her smile was small and fleeting. “I will pray to Jehovah.”

One of the coals inside fanned into a flame. “You pray to your Jehovah without ceasing, it seems—but he did not warn you of this either, did he? Yet you claim he and he

alone controls the entire universe.”

She jerked away with flooding eyes. “He may have formed the river and placed it in a pass that bears forth the winds. He may lift his hand and send out the rain to nourish

the crops. But you are the one who chose to cross that river, knowing what storms may come.”

The flame licked through the banked coals in his soul. “Do you dare to lay the blame for this at my feet?”

Anyone else would have cowered in fear, but not his Kasia. She only looked weary and far too pale. The flaming coals burned out quickly.

She shook her head. “I cast no blame. I only wish you would not dismiss Jehovah—or expect him to bend his creation around your will when you care nothing for his.”

He caught her hand again and kissed her palm. “I respect your God, my love. I am sorry I spoke as I did.”

Her gaze darted past him. “I am distracting you. And I am tired. I think I will not appear at the meal tonight, if you consent.”

“Of course. I will dine with you in your chamber then. If you consent.”

Her smile erased a few of the shadows under her eyes. “I would not dare deny the king of kings.”

“Good.” He kissed her hand again. “He gets testy when deprived of your company.”

With the amusement alive in her eyes again, she took her leave. Xerxes allowed himself a steadying breath before turning to the men clustered just out of earshot. He

beckoned them closer. “Have the engineers put to death and new ones appointed—and let it be known that they have three months to complete the project, or they will join

their predecessors in the afterlife.”

“Three months.” Though he looked strained, Otanes nodded. “As you will, my king.”

Masistes glanced at the scribe. “Will you really order the river lashed and manacled?”

Xerxes’ lips tugged up at the corners. “Come up with some clever and demeaning words for them to shout while carrying out the punishment, Masistes.”

“I?” Masistes flashed a wicked grin. “I have never had the pleasure of insulting a river before. It is brackish, is it not? Oh, this will be fun.”

While his brother went off mumbling about bitter waters, Xerxes measured the remaining commanders. “I will not stay in Sardis beyond the winter. Three months—not a day

more.”

If that required rearranging the face of the earth still more, so be it.





Eighteen



Sardis, Lydia

Three months later, in the sixth year of the reign of Xerxes



Darius hid the clench of his fists in the folds of his robe. “But Father—”

“I will not argue this again, Darius.” Xerxes did not even spare him a glance. His attention was focused entirely upon the line of slaves with all his possessions. His.

Not Darius’s. “The whole point of naming a successor before I head to war is so that you can rule in my absence, and in the event that I am slain. It would rather defeat

the purpose if you were slain along with me.”

“Then why did you let me come at all? Why not leave me in Susa?”